falloutkinkmeme_backup | Fallout Kink Meme Part IV: Closed to prompts, open for fills.

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Fallout Kink Meme Part IV: Closed to prompts, open for fills.

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Cass had just enough time to wonder whether she'd have to tell the robot to take it slow when said robot unceremoniously shoved the vibrator of her glistening pussy. She gasped at the sudden intrusion, feeling her naked body become hotter. She heard a faint humming sound smothered by her flesh and felt Fisto's robotic appendage moving along her hot inner walls. It wasn't refined, but it was effective and Cass could feel her lust growing.

The redhead moaned softly with pleasure when she felt the robot's vibrator starting to move back and forth, back and forth, fucking her in a smooth rhythm. In fact, the robot was fucking her in a perfect rhythm, every thrust exactly as deep as every other thrust with the exact same timing. She'd've thought such precise repetition would get boring, but it didn't. Cass felt pleasure burning along her every nerves and as more and more lustful moans spilled from her lips.

"Faster," she panted.

"As you wish, INSERT CUSTOMER NAME."

Cass shrieked when Fisto suddenly started pounding her pussy hard. Apparently, the robot didn't have much in the way of moderate setting. It slammed into her over and over and over and over and over, never letting her pause for breath. She didn't look back, but if she had the feeling that, if she did, Fisto's hand was moving in a complete blur, too fast for the eye to notice, way faster than any guy had ever fucked her.

Her arms trembling with the suddenly too great effort of keeping her propped up, Cass surrendered herself to Fisto's assault. It was the only thing she could do. The machine moved too fast, too hard for her to do anything in response but to take what it gave. And what it gave was wonderful. Cass felt like she was on fire, raw pleasure dancing through every inch of her naked body.

Before long, Cass collapsed, her arms giving way. She lay on flat on the bed, only her ass still in the air. Fisto didn't miss a beat as she suddenly shifted, fucking her as hard and as thoroughly as before. Cass moaned into the linen, her quivering body overstimulated and overloaded. If she'd had the breath she'd be screaming with lust. If she had the strength, she'd be fighting against her coming orgasm in order to enjoy Fisto's mechincal attention for as long as possible.

She didn't have the strength.

Cass grunted, her naked body shuddering with bliss, her pussy coating Fisto's extension with her fluids. She came the same way the robot had fucked her: hard, fast and violently. It tore through her helpless body, leaving utter bliss in its wake. It was powerful enough to make her scream and thrash with delight and she would have done so had Fisto not continued pounding her and rendering her utterly incapable of anything but take all the pleasure it gave her.

After... some time... Cass calmed down and she felt Fisto retract from her battered pussy. She rolled onto her back, looked up at the ceiling. Her legs had gone numb, but she felt utterly satisfied all the same.

"The owners would like you to know that you may remain in the room for two hours to recuperate, INSERT CUSTOMER NAME," Fisto said.

"Mighty kind of them," Cass said. "Think I might need it, too."

"I must go, INSERT CUSTOMER NAME. There are many more customers to satisfy with my rock-hard metal body."

"Right, right," Cass said, barely paying attention.

"Man," she whispered to herself after Fisto had trudged out of the room. "When I get back to the Lucky 38, I'm gonna yell at that girl for selling that thing."

Pairing: Boywhore!Butch DeLoria/Flak/Shrapnel
Summary: Butch works as a boywhore in Rivet City. Flak and Shrapnel decide to utilize his service.
Tags: Prostitution, Slash, Rough Sex, Threesome

Sorry this took me so long to write, this has practically turned into a vintage prompt in the meantime. I hope anyone (OP) is still around to read this.

===========================================

This wasn’t what Butch had imagined his life to be, and occasionally, he cursed himself for an idiot. Or worse. When he was sober enough to care.
He had thought he could handle himself. He had believed himself to be capable of dealing with everything. And then, after that night he had managed to slip out of the Vault, his life had changed more dramatically than he could ever have imagined. A little, dark, piercing, nagging thought, a thought he aimed to numb and shut up with alcohol whenever he could, told him he should have listened to Jake and stayed.

Or maybe he should have asked Jake a little more about the outside world before falling into it like a bird out of a nest. Because Butch, in his firm believe of being capable of handling everything, had forgotten a simple, yet significant detail: Outside the Vault, there were no food dispensers. No one provided for anyone but themselves. And here he was now, stranded in Rivet City, alone, broke and hungry.

Scavenging through the ruins of D.C had almost gotten him killed, and Butch had had to admit that he needed more combat experience other than small skirmishes in bars with his knife. He had no resources for the right equipment, though.
Upon asking Harkness for a position as security guard, the chief had seized him up, then laughed, and told him to come back when he had a few more hairs on his chest.
The Rudder already had a bouncer, and Butch knew better than to ask Belle for the job. Brock outweighed him by forty pounds, topped him by almost five inches and had fists like hams.
And doing people’s hair didn’t pay well, and most of these stupid outside creeps rather seemed to want to run around looking like an old privy carpet than paying someone to make them look presentable.

The first time Butch had sold his ass had been sheer desperation fuelled by a gnawing hunger so intense he couldn’t have imagined it. In the Vault, no one ever had to go hungry.
But somehow, it hadn’t been as bad as he had imagined it to be, and the money had fed him for a few days, and despite having drunk himself into a stupor after that, he had tried it again.

After some time, the whole thing had turned into business. He did people’s hair, and for an additional charge, took care of other body parts, too. He kept himself clean and groomed, having quickly discovered that a clean ass paid better, and kept out of Jake’s way whenever he happened to be in Rivet City. Butch had no idea if he had heard gossip about him, and had no intention to find out, to face him and steer around awkward conversation topics like: Whatcha doing with yourself out here? It would be a little hard to swallow for anyone to face a person you had bullied into snot and tears for the whole of your collective childhood to tell him you turned into a boywhore and lived on selling your ass.

Butch had found himself a small, empty cabin on the lower deck, cleared out the debris and the rubbish, found himself a chair, a table and a mattress, and knew this was a good as it could get. He got by, and maybe at one point he could begin to set something aside to get out of here again. Buy a proper gun, a set of armour, and what then, fuck knows.

He was, in fact, just daydreaming of slicing up a mutant’s face one morning when approaching steps told him he was about to have a customer. No one found his way in that corner of the lower deck accidentally, especially not at this time of day, just after breakfast time.

He smelled smoke, and when Butch looked up, he found one of the ship’s weapons dealers lean against the doorframe, smoke clamped loosely between his lips. Butch admired them, those two guys were first-class badass material, and he secretly wished he could be more like them. If rumours were true one of them had been a slaver and the other, the one who was now staring down at him now, even a raider. A fucking Wasteland raider. How he had come to be here and into that position no one knew, and Butch knew he would never have the balls to ask, because chances were, he wouldn’t have any balls left after the attempt.

“How much for a haircut?”, Shrapnel asked him.
Butch got up and tugged his jacket into place. “Depends. Thirty to fifty.” He eyed the former raider up, his hair was a hopeless, shaggy mass, but thick and healthy. Good material to work with.
“No fancy shit, kid. Just get it out of my eyes and keep it simple.”
“Sit down, dude, and I’ll take care of it.”

Butch had to admit, he was tempted to get a little fancy with that hair, but he didn’t fancy having his teeth knocked out. So he trimmed it out of Shrapnel’s eyes, took something off at the sides and discovered that his right ear looked as if someone had tried to cut it off with a blunt knife and someone else had tried to stick it back on with a piece of band-aid.
“What happened to your ear?”, he asked, fascinated despite himself.
“None of your fucking business. You done yet?”
“See for yourself.” Butch swallowed a snarky remark that would’ve likely earned him a black eye and held up a mirror. “That what you had in mind?” It was, in fact, so simple and crude it was against all his professional pride, but when Shrapnel nodded, seemingly satisfied, Butch felt somewhat relieved.
“Thanks, kid. What do I owe you?”
“Thirty. I was only at it for barely five minutes.”
Shrapnel got out of the chair, brushed a few stray hairs from his arms and shoulders and counted thirty caps onto the table. Lighting up another smoke, he seized Butch up and narrowed his eyes. Butch felt, to his irritation, like something exposed from under a rock.

“Say”, Shrapnel asked after taking a drag of his smoke. “What do you charge for an hour?”
Butch didn’t have to ask what he meant. “I don’t charge by hour, I charge by business. Hand job is fifty, a fuck is a hundred, and a blow job is a hundred and twenty.”
“Don’t like blow jobs, huh?”
Butch shrugged. “It’s hard earned money.”
“I guess so. But a man’s gotta eat, huh?” Shrapnel chuckled out a cloud of smoke. “How much to hire you for the night?”
“I just said...”
“I know what you just said. But do we have to make a shopping list or do you charge a lump-price?”
“Depends”, Butch gave back testily. “And I only work for payment up-front.”
“Don’t worry, kid. We don’t cheat someone out of their money. We’re assholes, but we’re honest assholes, at least. See you tonight, kid. Our cabin is just around the corner from the clinic.”
“What time?”
“Make it nine. We gotta close down the stall and have dinner, then we usually take a drink in the Rudder. Deal?”
“Deal”, Butch replied, but only after Shrapnel had gone did he realise what the raider-turned-merchant had said, stumbling over a tiny, little word. We?

I think this is my new favorite on the meme. Perfection, dear author. Perfection.

I LOVE IT SHHFUSKANDBCHNSKA this is exactly what I was after and Cass! Cass is perfect! Thank you so much :D

Did Lj eat my comment? I'm so sure I commented on this when it was posted >:(

A!A: yesssssss this is a great start! Cranky femmeArcade is a treasure and I love how doofy Six is. Can't wait to see this unfold!

omg someone please do this, I NEED IT

The wind was usually as quiet as the monsters that lurked in the Divide, but with its story told and a silent watcher on the cliff overlooking the canyon, it seemed tamer. Nothing could ever fully quiet the nuclear beast, and on occasion, one of the horrifying ticks that lurked on its surface would try to come crawling out. The Mojave wasn’t ready for that; maybe it never could be. That’s why Ulysses remained, a quiet, but vigilant guardian, mind wrapped up in stories and histories. It was difficult to tell if the man even ever slept or even needed it. Maybe the winds and the radiation had changed him too much, or maybe it hadn’t and he was just a man with ghosts and shadows that came out in times of subconscious creation.

The Courier’s visits were both a reprieve and a reminder. A reprieve from the boredom, a reminder of what could have been. A reprieve from his duties, a reminder of his burden. A reprieve from guilt, and a reminder of sins. Too many reminders in this place he could never leave, never abandon, so he took whatever reprieve he could get.

Sometimes, they would never talk. The Courier would just sit there beside the guardian, watching the beast that was once a beacon of hope, a bottle of...something between them. Could be anything, depending on the Courier’s mood. Water for neutral, cola for the good, alcohol for the bad. Once or twice, the drink wasn’t shared. Ulysses would be given a cola, while the Courier forced that wretched concoction of the Cloud down. Those times, Ulysses knew that the Courier was remembering and punishing. Suffering for sins in a place where no one, not enemy or companion, could see.
Other times, they would discuss histories. History of tribes long destroyed. Of the Old World. Of the Big Empty. Of his travels, of the Courier’s. Of the Bull, of the Bear, of Vegas. The talks let Ulysses pass on more knowledge. More stories that should be have been carried by more than just a guardian of a place that only the mad were trapped in. He would pass on recipes, things that could help the Courier. Things that could, if spread further, help the broken world heal just a little.

There was this one time they had discussed something else. It was a time when the Courier had brought a cola and the Cloud drink. Ulysses expected them to remain silent, and for several long hours, they did. They stared out at the broken canyon, watching the Marked wander about as they silently drank from their bottles. Then the Courier broke the silence with a single sentence. “Come with me.” Nothing seemed to have prompted it. The words were quiet, and Ulysses almost though he had imagined it. He turned his eyes away from the whispering canyon towards the Courier. The lonesome traveller continued quietly, glazed eyes still fixed on the happenings below. “The battle for the Dam will start soon. You could fight alongside us for a new future. And if you’re worried about the Marked Men or Tunnelers getting out, we could collapse the paths to the Divide. You don’t...You don’t have to stay here.”

He tried to say no. That he needed to stay. His road was traveled. He had no reason to be there any longer. The Courier looked over to him, eyes sharp. “How can you know that? Sure, we all walk our own roads, but who knows when they’re supposed to end? Who knows when they’ve reached the end unless they’re dead?”

He tried to put it in other terms. He was done travelling the roads now. He had passed on his message, his package, his burden, to the Courier. He was tired. The Courier’s eyes softened then, and the gaze returned to the canyon. The gaze was not like the one he had remembered. Of youthful energy and determination. It was a gaze that belonged to the old, the weary. The same one that was often on his own face. “So am I.” The Courier had whispered softly, barely audible over the wind. Perhaps it wasn’t even for his ears to hear.

this is so wonderful, omfg

Ulysses reached over and pulled the vile drink out of the Courier’s slackened hand. He tossed it into the Divide. As it fell, he merely held out the Sunset Sarsaparilla to the tired traveller. He said that there was still a road ahead but the end was near. It was a road that was meant for the Courier and the Mojave, but not a road for him. But if the Courier wanted a pit stop, there was always the Divide. And in the end, when the Courier’s road was over, he would be there. They both would be.

The Courier had reached out for the cola. The exhaustion wasn’t visible; maybe gone, maybe hidden. But they shared the cola then, and spoke of futures. Of New World Hope. And when the Courier had eventually left, Ulysses knew that the road the Courier took would always lead back here. And he would welcome the reprieve.

-----
A/N: Made Courier as ambiguous as possible, and all of Ulyssus' words into thoughts on purpose.

Title: Weary Hearts
Tags: Filled, Ulyssus, Courier, Gen. Relationship
Summary: The Courier tries to convince Ulysses to leave the Divide.

Aw, thank you!

Smoker!Arcade is smokin' hot :)

Tags: kink:hold_me_close_tiny_dancer, kink:substance, character:female_courier, character:boone, relationship:het
Summary: Boone gets blitzed on the Courier's booze and wants to dance.
A/n: I don't dance. I know less then nothing about dance so please forgive me for any weird mistakes.

The faint sounds of music drifting down the hallway was unexpected. The empty liquor cabinet was a catastrophe. Six chewed on her lower lip and briefly considered making a quick trip to the Atomic Wrangler. It had been an extra special kind of shitty day, but the thought of heading out again, even if it was to secure a little liquid balm for the soul, was beyond unappealing.

She'd been shot at, screamed at, chased with a flame thrower by a maniac wearing a tire for a shoulder guard, and had her honor questioned by a kid in a helmet who claimed to be able to see the future. And that was just the shit that happened before noon. The rest of the day had gotten progressively worse.

She closed the door. The empty liquor cabinet was just the last straw. The liquor thief was a dead man. Cass was supposedly out running errands with Arcade for the Followers, and Raul had enlisted Veronica to help him track down the last parts he needed for a project he called “motorcycle.” As far as she knew, Rex and ED-E didn't have the ability to unlock the cabinet, and Lily didn't drink. That left one man who was about to experience the afterlife in a very real, up close and personal, and permanent way.

She found Boone in the room at the end of the hall. Several empty beer bottles had been discarded in a not so neat pile at his feet, and a half drunk bottle of whiskey was open, the liquid rapidly disappearing down his throat.

“You,” she said, “Hand it over.”

He gave her a grin as he set the bottle down on the coffee table. She didn't wait for an invitation. She snatched it up and took a drink. That was better. Being chased by a crazy motherfucker with a flame thrower seemed less awful. Still, she gave Boone her best impression of her mother's disapproving stare before she sat beside him.

“Don't look at me like that,” he said, “Makes your face all shrively.”

“You are on my shit list.”

“Fine by me,” he said, “Maybe you shouldn't have left me here alone while you went off to kill dirt bags. Didn't I get the last guy? What'sherface? The one with all the dogs. ”

She snorted and took another long drink.

“Yeah, how could I forget? If you remembered not to take head shots on the bounties, you could have come with me,” she said, “I needed the heads intact, genius.”

“Pfft. Have another drink. On me.”

“Except since you took it from my special stash, that makes it on me. Since when do you drink anyway?”

That grin again. It was so out of place it was creepy. She downed a third shot before he snagged the bottle back.

“I drink,” he said, “Just not when I don't.”

“You've had too much already. Give me that---”

He stood, holding the bottle just over her head. That grin was suddenly a smirk.

“I've got a great idea,” he said, “You want the bottle? Come get it.”

She tried to count to ten. Drunk Boone was a new thing, an unnerving thing. How long had he been sitting in this room, drinking his way through her stash? It had to have been a while for him to get this smiley.

“You're shit faced,” she said, “How about you just hand it over and I won't let you die of alcohol poisoning? Sound fair?”

He dangled the bottle over her head, liquid sloshing back and forth and back and forth. A few drops flipped out of the bottle and onto her forehead---and she was so going to murdilate him. Slowly. Painfully.

“You need to lighten up a little,” he said, “ You know what works for me?”

“Drinking other people out of house and home?”

“Close. Stand up,” he said.

This was not going to end well. She gave him a suspicious look.

“Why?”

“Just do it. Trust me,” he said.

He took her hand and tugged her to her feet. He set the bottle on the coffee table, but when she tried to grab it, he caught her other hand. He pulled her to the center of the room. She narrowly avoided tripping over the discarded bottles and face planting in his chest. The scent of alcohol was almost overpowering.

“What are you doing? You're being weird.”

“Hey,” he said, slipping a hand behind her to rest in the small of her back, “Shut up and dance.”

She let out a yelp and tried to pull back as he pulled her flush against him. Six did not dance. Ever. It always ended in tragedy. Her mother had once jokingly suggested it was the real reason everyone had to evacuate the vault.

“I don't want to dance,” she said, “Hey, are you listening to me?”

He moved in time to the music. Each step was effortless, smooth, hardly what she expected of a man blitzed out of his mind. She expected him to stumble, to step on her feet, but he didn't. In fact, he managed to keep her from stepping on his feet, and that was no small accomplishment.

She let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding in.

“I didn't know you could dance,” she said.

“I didn't know you couldn't,” he said.

Before she could respond, she was spinning, twirling, whatever the fuck people who dance call it when the world gets knocked over on its ass in time to music---Boone pulled her back into his arms and then they were dipping. It was a hell of a lot better than being chased by Cook-Cook or insulted by a weird little psychic.

His grip tightened as she slid her arms around his neck. She shut her eyes and let him lead her. Left. Right. Sway. The music played on. She lost track of how many songs played. It felt good not to have to think about anything for once.

Abruptly, the music cut off. The room was plunged into silence.

“Boone?” she asked.

“Hmmm?”

“The music stopped,” she said.

“Music's overrated,” he said.

For once, she wasn't inclined to argue, but the sudden silence was troubling. Either the radio just randomly decided to stop working or something---someone---shut it off. If that nagging voice in her head was right she really didn't want to open her eyes. She really, really didn't want to open her eyes.

She cracked open one eye.

The Rose of Sharon Cassidy grinned at her, camera in hand, as she snapped a picture. The flash was blinding. She just glimpsed Arcade looking mortified before the world filled with brilliant spots of color.

“Damn it, Cass!”

“Pay up, Gannon,” she said, ignoring Six as she stuffed the Polaroid down her shirt for safe keeping, “That's two hundred big ones. Count 'em slowly.”

“I'm going to disembowel you slowly,” Six said as she extracted herself from Boone's hold.

Six wasn't sure what bet they'd made but it was the perfect end to this shitmare of a day. Cass was dead meat and Arcade was next.

Boone danced on.

YES. Yes I love this, and I love you, A!A.

OP here, geeking out. A!A, you are my new favorite person. FOREVER. I--I just--thank you. Drunk Boone is now my favorite thing ever. I almost literally squeed. You are amaaaaaaazing. :D

[b] Kink: Detox [/b]
[b] Characters: Leo Stahl/F!LW [/b]
[b] Relationship: Het [/b]

“I can’t,” Leo groaned, arching his back and twisting his body. Annalise loomed over him, pinning his shoulders into the mattress. Leo was stronger than his junky body looked, and Annalise swung a leg over his torso, straddling him for better leverage. “Look at me, Leo. LOOK at me.” Annalise released one of his shoulders and grabbed his face roughly. His eyes rolled dramatically, refusing to meet her gaze. When his eyes finally met hers, Annalise was struck by how desperate and melancholy they looked.

“Just—just one fix. Just a little one.”

“No,” Annalise said firmly.

“A single dose of Med-X. Please. For the shakes.”

“Not happening,” Annalise said grimly.

“You bitch,” Leo snarled, struggling anew. Leo brought his fist around and Annalise wasn’t quick enough to dodge a hit upside her head. She gave a little cry as his fist connected. The vault girl was tough, though. With a swift right hook, she dealt Leo back what he gave, and then some. His arms fell to the side, and Annalise sat back, gasping for breath. She regarded Leo’s unconscious form. “Madam, it appears your friend has been wounded. May I suggest medical attention,” Wadsworth opined, hovering in the doorframe.

“Good thing I’m a doctor,” Annalise replied. “How about you give me a little space to work, eh? Take Dogmeat for a walk or recharge your humor array in the closet or something.”

“As you wish, Madam.” Annalise swore she heard high-handedness in the cultured, robotic voice. “I’m being criticized by a glorified water purifier,” she grumbled to herself.

XxXxX

Leo came to several hours later, groaning and rolling his head. He felt like shit. “You’re burning up,” Annalise said, cool hand on his forehead. “Wha—what happened,” Leo asked. He moved to touch his face and found he couldn’t; his hands were tethered to the bed frame. “Do you mean before or after I cold-cocked you?”

Leo’s vision was swimming, but he could see a bright mark on the side of Annalise’s face. “Did…. I do that,” he asked. “Ayup,” Annalise confirmed. “I’ve had worse, though. Never mind me. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit. Blurry vision, sick to my stomach, shaking all over. I feel like I’m going to take a shit. Through my mouth.”

“That’s vulgar,” Annalise commented. She poured him a glass of water from a dented pitcher sitting on the corner desk. “If I untie you, are you gonna act up again?”

“Couldn’t if I wanted to,” Leo replied. Annalise untied him without another word. Slowly, Leo eased himself into a sitting position. His vision lurched and bucked, and he feared he’d be sick in his own lap. “Here,” Annalise said, curling a hand around his neck and bringing the glass to his lips. Leo took a sip. He hadn’t realized how dry his mouth was until the liquid trickled in. Suddenly he was terribly thirsty. He brought his own hand up to cover Annalise’s, and tried to tip the glass recklessly into his mouth. “Slow down,” Annalise chided, pulling the cup away. “If you don’t take it slow you’re just going to throw it all back up.”

Leo leaned against the bed frame. His gut felt molten and heavy. All he wanted to do was curl up into a little ball and make the pain go away. On the other hand, he felt insanely jittery. His hands trembled from the effort it took to keep them from fluttering madly, and his legs itched on the inside, burning to move and jive. His eyes burned from the light and his mind reeled if he shut his lids and regarded the dark. Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t, and damned if he just sat there and watched.

Annalise examined her patient, feeling his head and checking his pulse. She pulled his sleeves up and regarded his arms. Tracks stood out like a red map to hell on the pale white flesh of his forearm. Leo had been a heavy Med-X user, but jet had been his real golden boy. She’d bet any money that his lungs looked like raw hamburger. He probably felt like he was suffocating right now. His body had come to accept jet as a necessary mineral, vital for the function of his lungs. Deprived of its nourishment, the cells of his lungs probably thought they were dying.

“I can’t take it anymore,” Leo whined.

“That’s what you said three hours ago. And look, you’re still taking it.”

“That was back when I thought I was going to die,” Leo paused a beat. “Now it’s worse; I think I might live.”

“What’s wrong with living,” Annalise inquired, rubbing his back soothingly. Leo sighed. She couldn’t understand. She was young and pretty, and smart to boot. The vault girl had her whole life ahead of her. Everyone was murmuring that she’d do great things, and Leo believed them. What the hell would he ever accomplish? Work in the Brass Lantern until he got old and fat, shortchanging customers for drug money and popping Buffout from a breath mint tin? Hell of a life. And then one day raiders or slavers or the fucking enclave would come and scalp the lot of them. Then that was it. Short life in a long box buried six feet under.

“I’m too much of a fucking coward to live,” Leo said finally. “If I didn’t think you’d throw my ass down, I’d bolt down to Moriarty’s and lick his boots for a fix.”

“You need a fix,” Annalise enquired. “I’ll give you a fix. And it’ll be a hell of a lot better than anything you can get down at Moriarty’s.” Slowly, and with a small smile on her curved lips, Annalise pulled the zipper of her vault jumpsuit down until it exposed the soft swell of her breasts. That caught Leo’s attention. “Holy fuck. I’m hallucinating” he murmured, astonished.

“Well I wouldn’t say they’re that good,” Annalise commented, staring down at her own cleavage. She used the palms of her hands to push her breasts together and looked to Leo for his approval. “What do you think? I hear there’s a guy in Rivet City who can do breast augmentations.” Leo just gaped at her, personal woes forgotten.

Seeing Leo’s face blooming in disbelief, the vault girl dropped her hands. Her breasts fell back to their normal swell and she sighed. Regarding Leo intently, she said, “Here’s the deal, Leo. I can get you clean, but I can’t make you quit drugs. Only you can do that. You’re at a pivotal point, kid. So you can either slink back to Moriarty’s and be a damn dirty junkie for the rest of your life or you can stay here, fuck me till your hands stop shaking, and start a new life. What’s it gonna be?”

Leo lifted a shaky hand to the vault girl’s bosom. Her breast was firm and weighty in his hand. His mind was made up in a second. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Annalise said as Leo’s hands lingered on her breast. Annalise pushed Leo back onto the bed before straddling him. She drew the zipper of her vault suit down slowly, revealing inch by inch of tantalizing skin. She stopped well below her belly button. The lapels of her jumpsuit gaped open just enough to tease.

Leo reached up to brush the lapels open with shaky hands. Annalise shrugged her shoulders and the vault suit slipped down, pooling around her waist. Her breasts sat gracefully, round and full upon her chest. Annalise picked up Leo’s hands and placed them on her chest. He kneaded at the flesh, unintentionally groaning at how wonderful her bare breasts felt against his hands. Annalise arched her back into his touch and tipped her head back in pleasure. Annalise’s nipples hardened under Leo’s clumsy touch and Leo reflected that they looked better for it.

Annalise was now clawing at his belt, fingers made clumsy by impatience. It finally came free with a jangle and she undid his pants without hesitation. A cool hand descended down his trousers, and for a moment, Leo was terrified that he wouldn’t be able to respond. His body may be too weak and confused to capitalize on this opportunity. He unconsciously squeezed Annalise’s breasts harder. He never wanted anything more in his whole life.

Annalise’s hand closed over his cock and Leo was relieved to find himself responding. “Well, now,” Annalise teased. “I should have checked you for concealed weapons before I brought you into my house.” She wasted little time stripping him of his pants completely. Leo felt a moment of embarrassment as he kicked his pants onto the floor. He felt odd wearing nothing but a shirt, so he shucked that too. Now he was completely bare, and lying back onto the bed, waited to see what Annalise would do now. After watching him remove his own shirt, she followed suit by opening the zipper of her vault suit as far as it would go, and allowed the jumpsuit to fall off of her hips and pool upon the floor. Now, she was left only in a pair of low, white panties. She climbed back over Leo’s lap and ground her hips into his own.

To his over-sensitive erection, the fabric of her panties felt course and unbearable. Leo hooked a finger into the elastic of the waistband and looked to Annalise for permission. She leaned forward, grasping the bed frame, and lifted her hips up so Leo could slide the panties off easily. She kicked them off the side of the bed impatiently and settled back onto his lap. Now Leo could feel himself rubbing against the wiry hair covering her privates. Annalise pushed herself a little closer, and now he was sliding against the wetness in between her parted lips. She thrust shallowly over his erection, dragging the tip across her clit and gasping in pleasure. The sound of her quickening breath was making him urgent. “I need to… or I’ll….”

“Alright,” Annalise soothed. She steadied herself on his chest and guided Leo’s large cock into herself. She slowly eased herself down, sheathing him inch by inch inside her. Leo couldn’t believe how unbelievably tight and slick she felt. It was wonderful. Annalise moved herself, slowly at first, but with increasing vigor. Leo was still too weak to do much more than lie on the bed and enjoy the ride. As she thrust herself up and down upon him, her breasts moved in rhythm, lightly bouncing in a seductive way. Her breath was airy and feminine, but deepening with effort and pleasure.

Leo slowly brought his hands up to grip her hips as she bobbed on top of him. His fingers sank lightly into the flesh of her hips. He enjoyed the solid feel of bone under skin. It gave this unexpected encounter a firm grasp in reality that Leo desperately needed. He met the vault girl’s eyes, and she smiled back at him warmly. Annalise’s hands fell to steady herself on his chest again as she felt her orgasm building inside of her. Soon, it came in a deep swell that started where they joined and radiated out until even her fingertips tingled lightly. She gave a cry of delight as she rode it out.

Leo felt her thrusts become irregular, and felt her tighten around him. He hardly had time to enjoy her sensuous moan before he spilled himself deep inside of her, following with gasping breath. Annalise’s irregular thrusts came to an end, though she sat still in his lap a moment longer to catch her breath. When she pulled herself from Leo’s softening member, Leo regretted the end of their intimacy. He expected her to pick up her things and leave after that, like Nova did when you paid for a tumble at Moriarty’s, but she didn’t. Instead, she rolled onto the bed beside him and cozied up to his chest. “How’re you feeling?” she asked quietly against his chest.

so goooooood. You've captured Ulysses perfectly.

Leo considered the question. He still had a low headache at the base of his skull, and his insides still felt a little twisted, but he felt better than he did earlier. “A little better, actually. Now I’m sure I’m not going to die, at least.”

“Endorphins,” Annalise confirmed. “You’re out of the forest now, kid. Now your job’s to keep the fuck away from the trees, alright?”

“Alright,” he agreed. Leo wasn’t stupid; he knew it wasn’t going to be as easy as going clean. There’d still be the cravings to contend with and the bad habits waiting for him, steeped in every monument and every little action of his routine. But maybe—maybe if Annalise stuck around… hell, even if she had to leave, to find her father and protect the Wastes… as long as she came back, that would be something for him to hold on to. He could stay clean. Not for himself, not for Jenny and Andy, not for all the caps in Megaton—but for her? He thought he could.

It occurred to Leo that they’d done this all backwards—he hadn’t even kissed her yet. He put a hand on her cheek and turned Annalise’s face towards his own. She gazed up at him, still smiling, and he was struck by how lovely her dark hair and pale skin was. He brought their lips together firmly, savoring his first taste of her. She kissed him back earnestly, smiling against his lips as Leo’s prickly beard tickled her face. When they broke their embrace, Leo ran his thumb lightly over the blooming bruise along the side of her face. “I’m so sorry. I’m such an ass. Can you forgive me?”

“Nothing to forgive,” she said. “That was the old Leo, the damned junkie. Now, if I ever see his hide sulking around the water purifier plant in a jet fugue ever again, I’ll be sure to give him something a little harsher than a shiner on his right eye.”

“Don’t worry,” Leo replied. “That son of a bitch is long gone.”

----END----

btw, A!A confession time here, but Leo Stahl was my first Fallout crush :3

This is excellent! I love Leo! It's good to see him on the meme.

Another member of Team Hazy Cigarette Smoke Arcade checking in. This was delightful, A!A. Some things a chap just doesn't need his glasses to do ;)

OP here.
A!A, I... May or may not be in love with you because this is perfect.

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Fallout Kink Meme Part IV: Closed to prompts, open for fills.

Assume The Position (2/2)

Boywhore!Butch/Flak/Shrapnel: The Taming of the Shrew 1a/?

The Taming of the Shrew 1b/?

Re: Assume The Position (2/2)

OP here!

Re: yet-untitled genderswap Courier/Boone, Arcade/Boone 1/? OP HERE

Re: Any companion, ghoulification

Weary Hearts [1/2]

Re: F!LW/Butch - Bitter 3/3

Weary Hearts [2/2]

A!A Derp

Re: OP here!

Shut Up and Dance. 1/3

Shut Up and Dance. 2/3

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Re: Shut Up and Dance. 3/3

Re: Shut Up and Dance. 3/3

To fix or not to fix [1/4]

To fix or not to fix [2/4]

To fix or not to fix [3/4]

Re: Weary Hearts [2/2]

To fix or not to fix [4/4]

Re: To fix or not to fix [4/4]

Re: OP here!

Re: To fix or not to fix [4/4]